


Says the Spider to the Fly

by ElmiDol



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars The Force Awakens
Genre: AU, Crime Scenes, F/M, Misuse of Literary Contents, Older Brother Ben, RC deals in Death, Semi-graphic violence, Tag As I Go, Twins Matt and Kylo, Undecided Relationship(s), dead dove do not eat, minor gore, modern day AU, slow to medium burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-13 05:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19595716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElmiDol/pseuds/ElmiDol
Summary: One means of getting away with murder is to leave behind no evidence. Another is to have no signature. There is also the option: leave. You managed to do all three of these things two years ago. Old urges have been calling to you. Those sweet whispers. There had been a good reason that you had killed in the past. Some may have even referred to it as self-preservation. Now? It started with an accident then escalated beyond your control.One means of failing to get away with murder? A witness.It would have been far less confusing if said witness had simply turned you in. Instead he took you into his car, and drove you home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is to help me get out of my writing funk. I've been feeling very insecure about my writing recently, and there is something rather appealing about working on an AU. I really hope that you enjoy it. Any feedback left is much appreciated!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up that I am avoiding news on IX. That includes the trailer, theorizing, discussions, and such. This is for personal reasons to include emotional welfare. Thank you~

**Says the Spider to the Fly**

_He peered at his reflection and disliked it. He bent down, took up a double handful of lukewarm water, and rubbed the mess from his face._

_-Lord of the Flies by William Golding_

**Chapter One**

Shattered shards from the broken window did not fail to capture your reflection upon their surfaces. It distorted the features of your face into something less human. Which was fitting, considering that was precisely how you felt. It had been two years since last you had dealt with anything remotely close to this. Remotely. Killing at that time had been to protect yourself. There had been no premeditation. Someone had grabbed you off the streets with the intent to harm you. Maybe even kill you. You could never be sure. You had managed to gain the upper hand, had fought and survived. And, in a panic, you had gone into autopilot as adrenaline coursed through your veins. You had left no evidence. You had taken nothing, no trophies of any sort. Had not mutilated the body. Said body had been hidden in a place that could not be linked to you.

Subsequent to this, you had moved away. That was not to say that you did not check up on things every now and again to learn whether or not the body had been located. You never wanted to be caught off guard by the police showing up at your door. There would be questions, namely: why hadn’t you reported the incident since it had been self-defense? Well, you had multiple answers for that.

First, murder was murder in the eyes of the law, and you would be arrested and given a trial for the decision to be made.

Second, and more importantly, you had felt something when you had come down from that high. Felt disappointment over the decrease in adrenaline. The realization that you had on any level enjoyed the kill had terrified you. That had played a key role in determining your packing up and moving. You could not face anyone that had known you for fear of them somehow knowing, somehow seeing the difference in you.

You had mentally built an island for yourself, which you visited whenever you closed your eyes before bed. You entertained those dark thoughts and urges for fear that, stuffing them back and pretending they did not exist, they would get the better of you. This had worked. For two years you had been successful in your endeavors. That island on which you hunted, on which were buried numerous fictional corpses, had become a place of solace.

Your eyes skipped over to the fragmented glass again. Tracing each of the distortions and mapping them within your head, you noted that there was blood spattered on your cheek. Their smear was less visible in the darkness of night, however the glow of street lamps on the corner had crawled into the alley enough to provide you with a means of visibility. The mouth, or mouths, present on three portions of the glass twisted. You bared your teeth. You were more a monster in this moment than you had been those two years previous. There had been a reason you could live with then. This time?

Wide eyes fell to the corpse that lay sprawled on the ground. You shifted your left foot backwards, having previously been subconsciously using the toe of your shoe to nudge the right arm up higher. Male, his build only a fraction larger than yours. He had hardly been a threat. Even his mannerisms had been polite. He had been someone present in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. You had had a stressful day at work, and so you had decided to relax by going out. It was within walking distance to your apartment. That was a mistake; this body was too close to where you lived.

_I should be more concerned that there’s a_ **_body_ **, you thought, your lips twitching towards one side as they pinched and puckered forward.

There had been no scream. Perhaps it would have been better if there had been, if someone would catch you in the act and stop you. Your hands curled into fists at that thought. Part of you _did_ want to be caught, and yet there also existed another part of you that desired the retention of freedom. You started to tilt back your head in an attempt to look at the stars that were beginning to dot the sky. What stars that the lights of the city did not obscure, that is. A shadow that was two yards further in the alley caused you pause. You jerked your chin back down and narrowed your eyes to peer deeper into the darkness, where the light did not yet reach.

The silhouette was human in shape. The sight of it set your heart racing, and you re-experienced the high of adrenaline pumping through your body. Fear flooded you. It sent your pulse beating against your eardrums. Head swimming, you swayed in place. One of the broken shards of glass bit into the material of your shirt that rested on your shoulder. Your gaze abandoned the potential witness to rest on the area. You could not see any loose threads even as you pulled away. Gaze again directed on the shadow. The muscles in your legs had tensed.

_If I kill now, it’s self-preservation,_ your mind supplied. An excuse that you could live with. Your mind ran through several courses of action in a split second, all of which would have been acceptable on your mental island.

Shoving the other man into the window, shattering the glass; all of those noises had been drowned out by a car alarm that had since been silenced. If you were to be successful in your second kill of the night, you would have to make sure that the person could not release a shout. Not a single peep. The issue was that you did not have a weapon, and the individual was not within reach. These facts failed to stop you from taking that first step forward. Grateful that it was a back alley you were in, you did not bother looking over your shoulder for a potential witness of _this_ murder.

“Damn, girl.”

Those two words, spoken quietly and clearly not meant for your ears, were what at last gave you the gender of the witness. Male. It was strange that this gave you a sense of comfort. On your island, gender never mattered. In reality, on the other hand, you felt less guilty knowing that you had killed only men. It may have been due to the first person you had killed having been male. You had done that before. It was easy.

“Are you okay?” These three words directed at you. They made you halt midstep. A sort of swirling entered the pounding in your ears. The desire to hurt this person began to wane. Guilt started to creep in. You raised both hands towards your face then paused. You had blood on them. “Shit.” Another utterance that should have remained in his head. “Was he stalking you? He did that to his last girlfriend.”

Either this man was a silver-tongued liar, or you had been handed a gift from whatever deities existed. An excuse for the kill. Self-righteous.

“You know...knew him?” There were more reasons to say nothing than to speak. It baffled you that this stranger had coaxed a response from you. A shudder wracked your frame. This did not have a negative impact on your situation. On the contrary, it garnered more sympathy from the stranger. The _yeah_ was soft, filled with understanding that you, frankly, didn’t get.

You had not had many interpersonal relationships since you had moved. It was dangerous to let anyone in. The antisocial behaviors were kept in check when you were at work. That would have drawn too much suspicion as well.

“Knocking him unconscious like that...did you take classes?”

Oh. _Oh!_

He did not realize the man was dead, did he?

Your eyes dropped briefly to the corpse then jerked back to the shadow, which was shifting closer. He was coming to you. Gaze on the broken glass, on your distorted reflection. The shard embedded in his neck was not visible unless the witness was standing at this angle that you were at. Him walking to you would mean that reality would hit. Realization would dawn on him, and then it would be back to where you needed to kill him for the sake of self-preservation. The buzzing, which seemed to settle at the back of your neck, returned.

“We should go before he wakes up.”

Once more you were thrown off-guard. The stranger’s chivalrous behavior combatted with your sense of justice. You couldn’t...yes, you could...no... 

Mind in turmoil, your reaction time failed you. With a firm hand grasping your upper arm, the stranger steered you onwards. Your feet scrambled on the ground. Shoes shuffled until you turned and allowed the man to lead you. You stared at him, eyes drinking in his side profile as light revealed his features. Long nose, thick lips. He reminded you of the pictures depicting ancient Roman statues. His dark locks of hair poked out from under his hood on the jacket he wore. It was, admittedly, a chilly night. The cold had not hit you until that moment. You shivered, your teeth clattering together noisily.

Your fight or flight instincts continued to war with one another, rendering you numb. One part of you still demanded that you kill this witness. Another portion was telling you to retrace your steps to ensure that no evidence had been left behind that would lead the police to your door. You did neither of these things. The stranger succeeded in directing you out of the alley. The hold on your arm changed, the man sliding his hand until it rested on the small of your back. To a casual observer, you would look like a couple out together for the night.

He slipped you into the passenger seat of what you assumed to be his car. As the door slammed closed, you found your hands were working of their own accord. You had latched your seatbelt by the time the stranger moved into the driver’s seat. The keys were thrust into the ignition. You surreptitiously reached towards his wallet, which had fallen out of his back pocket onto his seat. Using your smallest finger, you started to flip it open, which allowed you to catch his surname. _Solo._ You would have learned more had you not been forced to jerk your limb back to your side. The man, Solo, had started to look your way.

“That wasn’t your first kill, was it?” Your stomach felt like it dropped. Instinct took over. You made to lunge for the wheel, however a large hand to your sternum shoved you back into place. “I was there to kill him.” Sobered, albeit only a little, you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “His last girlfriend? She was my ex. Friend since grade school...she didn’t deserve what he did. She moved. Couldn’t take it anymore. I had it all planned out. Someone to take care of the body lined up… Started to have doubts. When you came down the alley first, I thought it was a sign that he was meant to live. Fuck.”

He barked out a rich laugh, one hand slamming against the rim of the steering wheel. Your attention shifted to that limb.

“Did he?”

“What?” you asked.

“Stalk you. Did he stalk you?”

You ran your tongue over your lips. It would be easy to lie. You could picture it, could feel how it made you feel better regarding your actions. “Does it matter?” you asked instead. Solo shrugged then shook his head _no_.

You sat there staring at him from the passenger seat. Wondered where it was he was driving you to. The police? _You_ had killed the man. There was nothing to trace _him_ back to the scene of the crime. Even his admission that he had wanted the man dead wouldn’t do anything to help you or hurt him. The part of you that wanted to be caught, to be stopped, rejoiced and informed you it would be wise to relax where you were seated. The other part of you eyed the wheel again. Solo set three fingers against your sternum, gently pushing you.

“Stay there.” The tinge of amusement in his voice was, in another setting, attractive. Or maybe you were too attention starved. This was the closest you had been to someone in a non-work setting for quite some time. You angled your body away, towards the door. Watched his reflection in the surface of the window. Then found your own. You lifted one hand and rubbed at the place where you had seen blood. Learned that that had been a figment of your imagination. There was no evidence of death on you in the physical sense. You pressed your fingers to the glass to obscure your own reflection. You did not like what you saw.

_His_ reflection, however, was appealing.

“No,” you admitted, earning a glance. Solo pulled to a stop at the traffic light. “That wasn’t my first.”

You held your breath, waiting. Listened for the blinker to be turned on, for the car to head in the direction of the police station. When the light turned green, Solo continued on a straight path. Away from the crime scene. Away from your apartment. Away from the police.

You pictured yourself on your island that was filled with graves. For the first time since its creation, you felt alone on it. It was no longer a sense of solitude, but true loneliness. You brought yourself back to reality and looked over at Solo.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on introducing the three brothers, Hux, and the other characters a little at a time. I'm hoping this will help display their different personalities and character traits better.
> 
> As always, comments are loved <3

**Says the Spider to the Fly**

_Later, I wondered if that expression was a strained sort of grin, but at the time it baffled me. It was a sort of grin that seemed both sarcastic and somewhat diabolical at the same time._

_-Boogiepop and Others by Kouhei Kadono_

**Chapter Two**

As you stared at Solo, the man continued to drive towards a destination unknown to you. He muttered to himself. You were forced to strain to listen in order to catch what he was saying. This stranger was berating himself under his breath for having brought you with him. He did not know what he was doing, nor why. It would have been easy for him to leave you there or take you to the police station. While he rambled, a byproduct of shock, you once more transferred your attention to the wallet that was on the seat. You pinched it between your middle and forefinger, the leather smooth and cool on your skin. Solo removed his eyes from the street ahead, looking at you then back at the road, at you again. His hand caught your wrist, encircling it in a tight grasp. Your eyes whipped up to his. They were so dark. Your lips parted, and you greedily sucked in air whilst letting your hand fall limp so that the wallet fell back into place.

The car swerved a bit to the left. You jumped in your seat only to relax when Solo corrected his course. He relinquished his hold on you once you settled back into place, slumping in the passenger side of the car. It was a black 2017 Nissan Maxima, which you had failed to notice before. The interior looked to be in pristine condition. He took care of his things. Why Solo hadn’t let you bite the bullet for your actions, you could not say. It made no sense to you, not at all.

It made even less sense when he drove the car into a carport that was attached to a modest sized home. The manicured lawn, not fully visible in the dark of the night, was the first thing you had noticed. Solo cut the engine without making a move to unlatch his seatbelt. He again muttered under his breath.

The bulk of the house was stretched out to the left of the car, on the driver’s side. There was a path from the carport to the front door, though the mailbox was on the right side. You were greedily assessing your surroundings. Searching for a means of gaining the upper hand, because surely this man was going to realize his error in full. He would call the police. Restrain you while he made the call. The man had you at a physical disadvantage. You considered the exterior of his home. The front porch light was on, illuminating portions of the siding that allowed you to see that it was beige.

A door slamming caused you to jerk in place, as well as drew a swear from Solo’s lips. Nosey neighbor, you deduced. The stranger scrambled to undo his seatbelt with one hand, using the other to do the same with yours. It was in his best interest to get you into his home before any witnesses saw you. Ironically, it was in your best interest to go along with him no matter what reservations either of you were having, no matter that your mind was telling you _he_ was the witness you had to worry about.

Solo fumbled with his keys while the both of you exited his car and did a mini-jog to the front door. You backed away from the porch light into the small envelope of shadow provided by a hanging plant. Your nostrils flared at the smell of flowers. Tilting back your head, your squinted eyes fell upon the flowers that were beside another hanging plant, this one a species of tomato. Footsteps sounded from the other side of the carport. The nosey neighbor was female, her voice calling out a name. Solo’s first name.

Kylo.

You raised a single eyebrow at the name. Kylo Solo. It brought to mind Marco Polo, and suddenly you were envisioning yourself on your island hunting for him. Shouting _Kylo_ while he answered with _Solo_. You had a blindfold on, were cackling with glee as you considered the many ways that he could meet his end.

A firm hand on your wrist, the sensation of whiplash as you were yanked forward, eliminated the reverie. He brought you into his home, entered behind you, and shut the door as a shadow played on the edges of the path you had taken. Kylo wasted no time. Now that he did not have to speak with his female neighbor, he was a man on a mission. From the entrance hall, he had to walk two yards forward then take a right turn through a doorway. You followed after him, finding yourself in his kitchen. Drawers opened then were slammed closed. Knives, scissors, sharp objects cradled in a colander in his arms. There was no way you were going to inform him that frying pans could also be dangerous. You could bash open his face with one of those. Given the right angle, you could deliver a blow strong enough to crack his skull andㅡthe doorbell rang.

“You should probably get that,” you said, feeling rather calm despite present circumstances.

Kylo carried the filled colander with him, presumably setting it on the floor prior to opening his front door and greeting his neighbor. Without his supervision, you were allowed to fully assess your surroundings. The appliances in the kitchen were newer, however showed signs of wear. This meant that he cooked at home instead of frequently eating out. You walked towards the other side of the kitchen. There was an opening between the counters through which you entered the small, formal dining area. It possessed a circular table that would be comfortable if two were seated, crowded should there be four. As for the chairs, there were three of them. Touching the back of one of the wooden pieces, you cocked your head and listened for Kylo’s voice. He remained talking with the female stranger; his tone held a note of impatience, hers a flirtatious purr.

A turn left once one walked past the cabinets into the dining area, the living room opened. You entered here, eyes constantly darting about. Kylo was the proud owner of a sixty-five inch flatscreen. There was an HDMI cable leading from the television set down to a gaming system that could double as a bluray player. In way of decor, the room was sparse. The man’s preference was black furniture to include his leather couch and a tower lamp that sat near it.

You ventured past all of this, ignoring the glass sliding door that would lead one to the backyard, and started down the hallway. You quickened your pace three steps at the first turn due to it leading to the front door. One glance at Kylo’s back, still concealed by his hoodie, and you translated his body language as matching his voice; he wanted the conversation to end, yet was for some reason nervous to be entirely rude to the neighbor.

Using this to your advantage, you peeked into the first door on the left in the hallway. Bathroom. First door on the right was a closet, which you did not fully close. There were two more doors in the hall, one on either side. The right held what appeared to be an office area; you were opposed to turning on the light for the time being. You ducked into the room across from the office. Where the remainder of the house was generally clean, Kylo’s bedroom was chaotic. There were two sloppy piles of clothing that totaled three day’s worth. It was less messy than other rooms you had been in while in highschool. The clothing was not _all over_ the floor. You easily avoided stepping on the linen by arching your foot so that you were tiptoeing.

Light from a streetlamp slipped through the partially open curtains. This was the one way that you were able to see where you were going. A pile of magazines were in the corner. Not one of them featured a female model on the cover. There were at the very least ten crumpled balls of paper. Four of them were on the unmade bed along with a pen and a notepad.

Crossing your arms behind your back, you bent forward to peer down at the notepad, which was opened to a page on which there was writing.

_Hair. Saliva. Fingerprints. Shoe prints._

_Ask Matt what other traces of evidence can be used._

_Matt goes to scene afterwards? He can help with cleanup._

Your mouth formed the name though no sound escaped you. An amused smirk crossed your features. Kylo Solo had not been quite as ready to kill someone as he had believed. Whoever this _Matt_ was, he was well-versed in crime scenes. Perhaps a crime show buff? A cop or a forensic scientist?

You seized your bottom lip between your teeth simultaneous to tilting your head for the purpose of listening, checking on the status of Kylo’s conversation with his nosey neighbor. There were no voices. Only footsteps. They alternated between hesitant and rushing. He was looking for you. Seeing no reason to hide, knowing that he would eventually find you, you called out with an unsexy _in your bedroom_ that was punctuated by a snort of amusement at the phrasing. The floor in the hallway creaked. You stepped away from the bed in the hopes that distance between it and you would offer Kylo a false sense of security that his notes had not been read.

Upon arrival, Kylo reached up to flick the switch. Light flooded the room, which caused you to repeatedly blink as you adjusted to the change. You twisted at your torso to consider the bed. Its sheets were a dark red rather than the shade of gray you had thought them to be. This disconcerted you. How could you mix up colors like that? Your attention to detail was one way you had been able to get away with murder. Were you truly becoming as sloppy as the owner of this room?

As you turned to face him, you caught sight of Kylo pulling off his hood. His dark locks of hair were disheveled, albeit not in an unattractive way. He could have passed for a hair model. Your fingers twitched in place. The hammering of your heart was due to your being flustered as much as the jolt of surprise that traveled through you because of your own reaction. You wanted to blame it on fatigue. The unplanned kill had zapped much of your strength. Or perhaps it was that the presence of a witness had stolen the high you would have otherwise obtained.

“Do you fuck on the couch? Your bedroom’s a mess.” His cheeks took on a pinkish hue that quickly turned red. His mouth was in constant motion. Lips pursing. He was not the only one caught off guard by your inquiry. You cleared your throat. “I didn’t expect it...the rest of your house is clean.”

“Yeah.”

As to whether that was an answer to your original question or an acknowledgment of your statement, you were not sure. Kylo walked further into his room. He nudged one of the piles of clothes with his foot. Kicked them to the side, kicked a second time to fold the shirt over the briefs that were in view after the initial move. He busied his hands with grabbing up the wadded up papers, which he then tossed into a trash bin you had previously failed to notice. Unable to keep silent, you piped up with the advice that he shred those papers or burn them. He stopped dead in his actions. Half turned to you, paused, swore while staring down at the paper ball in his grasp. There was no more pretending that you had not seen his notes. Overall, it would not do him much harm considering that he had revealed his intentions to you in the car. The one issue was the identity of Matt.

Kylo was not making a move towards you. Though you did not allow yourself any false sense of security, you did decide to take another look at his room with the light on. He had a single poster on his wall, likely some underground band that you had never heard of. A black shelf on a different wall that housed a silver metal statue. There was a laundry basket in the corner of his room. You could have facepalmed at his laziness. On the opposite wall there was a black desk with a computer chair. Laptop computer on it, a tablet on top of that. Charging cables set beside it. Earbuds with tangled cables.

“You’re pretty nosey.” These words were grumbled out. They were also nearly drowned by the rustling of paper as Kylo resumed picking up his mess.

You shrugged, clucked your tongue against your teeth, and said, “I’m trying to figure out if this can be classified as a kidnapping or not.” You heard breathy laughter, and found yourself smiling as well. A thought had struck you. “It really bothers you that _I_ killed him and you didn’t.” He failed to respond with words. You looked over at the stranger whose house you were in. Found that he was staring at you with widened eyes. He was baffled. Confused that you had guessed it, confused that he truly did feel that way. He did not know what to do; he had reacted on panic and anger, subconscious frustration… Maybe he had planned to hurt you once he got you home. He did not know himself as well as he might have thought he did before this night. “Are you going to kill me instead? Get that...Matt..to help you clean up?”

His eyes flicked up and down your body. He was either sizing you up, or attempting to wrap his brain around the fact that you were rather cheeky for someone who had just killed then got taken by some stranger. It was sort of ironic, if you had to be honest. The first time you had killed, it had been in the other order: kidnapped, kill. Kill, kidnapped. That was quite a pattern.

“How long ago did she move?” The first question had been getting you nowhere, and so you had decided to switch gears. Kylo shook his head, did not answer. His hands were full of the papers, all of them to include the sheet he had torn out of the notepad after your suggestion. He walked past you on his way to the door that led into the second bathroom. You moved to the doorway, standing there. There was a stand-in shower. No tub. Toilet, sink, bathmat, trash. He deposited the papers into the sink, opened the built in cabinet that utilized the mirror as a door, and grabbed out a lighter. Neither of you spoke as the paper caught fire. The flame crept along the different sheets, blackening them to ash.

When the fire began to die, that was the moment you decided to repeat your question. The dark haired man shook his head, told you that it did not matter, and said that you had nothing to worry about. The murder would be covered up. Whoever this Matt was, you surmised, he had the right skillset to help you.

A brief escape to your mental island: between playing Kylo Solo while blindfolded, the mysterious Matt sectioned off portions of your crime scenes and graves, placing them under renovation. If ever law enforcement found their way to this spot of land, they would suspect nothing.

“I’d like to meet this Matt,” you said, rather chipper. Kylo pointed at you with the lighter. You took a step back in retreat. “Should I just leave?”

“I don’t know. This is a mess.” Understatement of the year.

His actions may well have been illogical to an extent, however you could not fail to note that Kylo Solo was _very_ calm considering he had witnessed a murder. A murder that he had hoped to do himself, at that. You pondered a potential plot twist: this would not have been Kylo’s first murder. Despite a spike in your curiosity, you did not believe yourself to be foolish enough to ask.

You pushed off the doorframe, twisting at your torso while turning on your heel, and crossed the messy bedroom back to the bed. Unmade though it was, the bed seemed to have clean sheets. You pressed the pads of two fingers on the bedding to check then, satisfied, lowered yourself so that you were sitting on the edge of the mattress while facing the bathroom. You still thought of ways to kill Kylo. He was a witness to a crime; even if it was covered up by this Matt guy, Solo would have something to hold over your head. Blackmail. You cringed at the prospect.

His dresser was inside his closet, a fact you learned when he opened the door to it. Five drawer, tall. Clothes on hangers dangling from either side, most of them comprised of darker shades. A hamster ball was situated on top of the dresser. You started to look around, realizing that you had missed the cage. It was nowhere in sight, which prompted you to rise and walk to the office. Kylo’s voice called after you to _stop leaving rooms, for fuck’s safe!_ but you ignored the command. You hit the switch. Not only was there a cage with a hamsterㅡmore than that, it had a nameplate out of the rodent’s reach that supplied the title of _Chewie_ ㅡbut there was also a fishtank in which there was a piranha. Two of them. They swam back and forth, seemingly content. They, too, had nameplates. Rathtar and Maul.

A shadow fell over you. Knowing the identity of the individual casting it, you remained unaffected. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.” Points to him for that brilliant deduction. The possibility of him grabbing hold of you, of hurting you and even killing you, lingered. It was clear that he could hide one murder. Why not two? Or he wouldn’t even have to hide your murder; you had killed the man in the alley, and Kylo could easily say that you had followed him home. It would be in self-defense.

If you managed to get him close enough to the fishtank, could you push him through it?

“How… How many before him?”

You looked over your shoulder at him prior to turning to face him in full. Even through the hoodie, you could tell that he was well built. It was a little intimidating now that you were faced with the possibility that he would hurt you. He had both of his forearms braced on either side of the doorframe. Where you had been able to get the upper hand on the man who had become your first kill, you were wary when it came to Kylo. He was taller, for one thing. More muscle. Or maybe you just didn’t have enough adrenaline? The decline in energy the more time that transpired following your second kill could very well be the death of you.

“Just one.” His eyes began to pinch, narrowing into slits as he determined whether or not he would believe you. This allowed you a second’s worth of air, which you took. It dawned on you why you were calmer, why you were dropping your guard and being foolish. You did not have to hide your true self. You had killed. You had enjoyed it to an extent, and Kylo had witnessed it. The cat was out of the bag. “It was self-defense.”

“Did you like it?”

Fuck, the way he asked the question made it sound so filthy. Not in a _you’re scum_ kind of way, and not _quite_ in a _that’s hot_ way either. His voice was deep to begin with. When he spoke in something more akin to a whisper? You had been yearning to be this open, and damn was his voice doing the trick.

“Yes.” You trembled as you admitted to it. Silence hung in the air between you. In the background, the two piranha swam, and Chewie had roused from its sleep to run on the wheel, going nowhere faster and faster and faster.

Kylo curled one of his hands into a fist without moving his arm. He posed another question, asking if you had enjoyed it because you liked inflicting pain on someone else. No, you said, that wasn’t it. It was the rush, the relief of being rid of them. Of a phantom sensation that you had shed something within yourself, something you did not like, a quality that only the person knew of. You felt like a monster during the act, but afterwards? Afterwards you felt more human.

“But you didn’t kill again until tonight.” You had to look away from him. Saw the two thin bookshelves that were in the office. He had a desktop computer in here on a desk. The bookshelves had programming textbooks. A Funko Pop...three of them. One was the Indominus from Jurassic World Fallen Kingdom. The second was Hannibal Lector from the films, the final Hannibal Lector from the TV series. The only reading books you could see, they were all crime or suspense. You looked away from that first bookcase to consider the second. Sci-fi novels with boxed figures. Five figures in total. His CD collection was on the bottom shelf, their cases stacked together as they laid on their sides. “Why did you kill him?”

You shook your head. You did not know; you were still trying to answer that for yourself, because saying it was an _accident_ was not enough. After a deep breath, you regained some of your confidence.

“What did you neighbor want?” It would not be wise to let him back you into a corner, be it in a figurative or literal sense.

Kylo’s lips twisted into a smirk. His eyes again narrowed, although not as much this time. You jerked your gaze down. Felt your cheeks growing hotter, feeling like some case study. “Block party that’s coming up. Otherwise...the usual...a date.” He was not being smug with that declaration. You wondered why he did not turn her down then considered that he may have rejected her advances more times than he could count. Some people never took a hint, or ignored whatever they didn’t want to hear. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

You cupped your hands to your stomach. Frankly, you were undecided as to what it was you would do about _him_. Neither of you was going to let the other leave until the both of you felt safe...or until one killed the other.

“How about you feed me?” Feeling cheeky, you grinned. “I’ll keep away from your knives.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Says the Spider to the Fly**

_ Nothing endures, not a tree, not love, not even death by violence. _

_ -A Separate Peace by John Knowles _

**Chapter Three**

Kylo barely batted an eyelash at your joke, although you better gauged his reaction by observing his jaw as it tightened. It was not an audible clenching of the teeth by any means. You did not need sound to drive home the fact that you would have to relent on such teasing in the future if you had any hope at all of surviving the night. There was no apology spoken. The dark-haired man exited the office first, you following along after him without any verbal prompting, and walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. He turned down the entrance hall and from there moved into the kitchen. You decided on the alternate route, breaking off of the path he had taken, and earned yet another growled out swear. Kylo had already started to busy himself with opening up the fridge and deciding what to feed you.

His hands disappeared into the refrigerator, and when they were in your line of view once more, they were filled with bread and a variety of foods that could be used to make different kinds of sandwiches. It was nice, the non-verbal admission that he did not know your preferences, and the sign that he was willing to work around this lack of knowledge while providing for you. It made your heart stutter in your chest. The gesture was more intimate than any you had had in recent weeks. Your co-workers had initially attempted to talk to you at lunch─sometimes they still did─but they never truly understand your likes and dislikes. Not even the obvious ones that any casual observer should. Kylo, on the other hand, deposited the food onto the ledge near you then went into one of the cupboards for still more diversity. The final items he brought were a spoon and a knife.

Without a word, you and he both began to make a sandwich for yourselves. The pair of you stood side by side as though you were well acquainted with one another. There was no cliche that involved the two of you reached for the same item and accidentally brushing hands or bumping hips. This was in part due to your constant observations. You would wait until a food was securely in his hand prior to selecting something for yourself. Kylo moved slowly, seeming to also be gauging your actions. You did not dare touch the knife, dull as it was, for fear that he would react physically. Not to be cruel. He might feel a true need to defend himself, and you found that you would be unable to fault him for that.

After the sandwiches were made, Kylo shifted his further from you and tasked himself with cleaning before eating. You also waited to pick up your sandwich. Where he had moved his, it was close to the corner created by the cupboards, which is where you had planned on sitting. The dark haired man returned to his food, grabbed it up, and walked to the center of the kitchen. He stood whilst taking the first bite. He was not looking at you.

Without ceasing your observations, you moved with your food to the place you had always intended to sit, and slowly slid down into a comfortable position that would also allow you to spring to your feet at a moment’s notice.

Your back stiffened, the muscles in your shoulder blades tightening at the sound of a key entering the front door. You had missed noises that would indicate the arrival of a person. Kylo’s eyes leaped at last to you then left as the front door opened. There would be no time to hide if you tried, so instead you stayed as still as you could in an attempt to blend in with your surroundings.

There was a strong sense of vertigo that threatened to overwhelm you when the new stranger entered the kitchen. His facial features were nearly identical to Kylo’s. Aside from his attire, that he wore glasses, and his blonde hair, he looked every bit like the man. They had to be brothers or close cousins. There could be no other explanation. You subconsciously took a bite of your sandwich, not realizing what you were doing until you tasted the food on your tongue.

The blonde jabbed his index finger into Kylo’s chest after stomping to him. “You just had to do it, didn’t you? I thought you were joking.” His eyebrows knitted towards one another. They were dark in color, which caused you to wonder if his hair was naturally blonde, or if it had been dyed. These two could be twins. They might be fraternal twins, however you were beginning to think that, should your hair dye theory prove correct, they were identical twins. “I went there because I had this feeling…” He rubbed the back of his neck. You had heard of twins being able to sense things from one another. Taking another bite of your sandwich to prevent your stomach from releasing a hunger-filled gurgle, you listened as the nameless blonde continued. “You got him drunk first then…  _ I _ was joking when I said you should do that, make it look like an accident.”

“Matt,” Kylo began. Your sandwich paused midway to your mouth, which was hanging open. This was Matt, you thought.  _ Blonde-Kylo is Matt _ . Matt was a Solo, which explained Kylo’s reaction to your having read his notes, having seen the name. “Look─”

“No!” the blonde said, giving his darker-haired brother a shove so that Kylo stumbled backwards three steps. Tracking the movements of the victim of his push were what led his gaze to fall to you. His eyes widened. You, meanwhile, took a generous bite out of your sandwich and began to chew. Gave an awkward nod of greeting. What were you supposed to do? “I…”

“She was there,” Kylo said. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and looked at the far wall, in the opposite direction of you and away from his brother. “She’s the one who shoved him.”

An expression of incredulity crossed the features of the newly arrived Solo. He looked from Kylo to you and back. The question was right there in his expression: why the flying fuck hadn’t his brother turned you in to the police? More importantly, why were you eating a sandwich on his floor?

The latter question was posed aloud, earning an  _ I don’t fucking know, okay? _

You were down to a fourth of your sandwich left. Kylo tilted back his head to stare up at the ceiling. His brother was unable to take his eyes off of you. Fear warred with confusion. His apprehension was getting the better of him, which prompted you to speak up. A half-truth. Omitting that you had enjoyed killing the stranger, that it had not been your first kill. You supplied a perhaps too-calm  _ It was an accident _ then took a bite that equated to half of the remaining portion of your sandwich.

“Is she high on something?” Matt inquired, the man stepping nearer to his brother and dropping his voice though not to a complete whisper. A part of you felt insulted, and you paused in chewing for a beat. Your overall calm demeanor, and that you were eating with no issue despite having killed someone, could very well be taken as being high. The reality of the situation would not be hitting you as it should. Except that it was, and Kylo let his head descend rightwards, extending the muscles in his neck. Matt held up both of his hands, albeit not in surrender. “I shouldn’t have let you drag me into this. I could lose my job… Fuck, Kylo, I could go to jail. And it isn’t even for  _ you _ . Fuck you.”

It was probably inappropriate that your mind flashed to you and Matt on your island together burying Kylo’s corpse after murdering him together. This would have escaped you had it not been for the twinge you felt as a result. Was it...regret? Remorse?

The final bite of the sandwich was in no way appealing; it made your stomach churn to even think about consuming it. You rose to your feet, keeping your movements slower than before. There were two of them now. Kylo Solo had been plenty able to keep you restrained in the car. The addition of Matt meant that you were all the more out-manned and outgunned. Both of them watched you. Kylo had failed to remove his hands from his pockets, his lax behavior apparently offering Matt a reason to calm himself. That did not eliminate the anger. You set the last of your sandwich on the ledge then brushed your hands on the thighs of your pants.

“I don’t plan on telling anyone,” you offered. Matt looked all the more like his brother when he clenched his teeth. You gestured at the darker haired man then yourself with a single finger, wagging it more than once. “If there are questions… We were here together most the night. Maybe fucking.” Even Kylo’s ears became a bit red at that suggestion. “Maybe not fucking. That might open things to more questions.” You tilted your head. “Are you a forensic scientist or a cop?” You had your answer before you finished your question. Matt had reacted to the former by sucking air into his lungs so sharply that the sound was one you couldn’t have missed.

Each of you was painfully aware of the fact that things could not be undone. There was no traveling back in time to the point before you had killed the man, nor to the moment that Kylo Solo had escorted you to his house, and there was no eliminating the fact that Kylo had could have called his brother. He had not thought of that, of calling Matt to tell him what had transpired so that the blonde would avoid the crime scene. Now the three of you were in this together. Accessory after the fact. Both of them.

Surrendering to these unarguable facts, Matt all but lunged in the direction of the fridge, yanked open the door, and popped the tab off a can of beer. Kylo bounced the toes on his right foot against the ground. Up, down, up, down, fully lifting them into the air.

“What was your history with him?” Matt was crushing the can in a fashion that allowed it to pop back into place each time he relented. The noise had you sucking in your stomach, tightening your abdominal muscles. You shook your head, once more answering truthfully, that there was none. Eyes on the can, on his hand, on the way the aluminum failed to pop back into place after the next squeeze. “I didn’t check if  _ you _ left any evidence behind.”

“I live nearby. It shouldn’t be a problem if there are signs I was there...as long as it doesn’t connect me directly to the murder.” Matt Solo nodded absently. You thought how much less calm he would be if he knew that your mind had formulated scenarios in which you used this pair, this set of twins, as a means of getting away with future kills. A tightening in your chest. The nurture part of your personality kicking in, societal and parental influences telling you that that was  _ wrong _ .

Without turning, you reached behind yourself for the last bite of your sandwich. There was no joy derived from eating it, however it did not fail to serve its purpose. The act of chewing distracted your mind. The taste shoved back the thoughts of killing as one hunger took place of the other. Then a thirst. Not for blood, but for water, soda, beer, you had no preference, you were parched. You began sucking around nothing. Eyed the refrigerator, looked at the sink, opened your mouth to ask where the glasses were only to have Kylo preempt you. He walked over to the cupboard that was on the left side of the sink. The cups were on the second shelf, both tall glasses and mugs, plates on the bottom shelf beside the bowls. It was a black set with red rims, although the taller glasses were clear. It was one of the black mugs that were handed to you, and you cupped your hands around its circumference as you walked nearer to the sink. Kylo turned on the tap, which meant that you did not have to alter your hold.

You greedily drank half a cup of water. The sound of you swallowing echoed loudly in your own ears, drowning out whatever Matt was saying to his brother. Kylo cut off the flow of water.

There were times when you caught small glimpses of the person you had been before you had been kidnapped, before you had killed the person who would have hurt you. You nearly snorted at that. He  _ had _ hurt you. He had destroyed who you had once been in an act of failed violence that was no less pervasive. He had stripped away the peace of mind that had once existed, the sense of peace. Shattering that, he had been met with the monster who would do anything, anything at all, to reclaim that what had been stolen. There could be peace if no one was with you, if there was no threat.

You drained more of the class into your mouth, down your throat. Tried to keep your hands from trembling. Both Kylo and Matt were watching you. In some ways, they were not a threat. It would hurt them more to hurt or kill you. Yet another part of your mind was shouting that they were. Kylo was the eye witness to your crime. Matt knew the secret as well. Their mouths were a threat in that they could speak; their hands in that they could write. Kylo’s eyes, when he saw. Matt’s ears, when he heard.

Here you were caught in a tangled web that would be born of the lies all three of you would  _ share _ . That was terrifying to you. The forming web would require strength to keep it from falling apart. You could each of you go your separate ways, in which case you knew that you would never stop looking over your shoulder. If you eliminated either of these men, if you killed both, that would be more to hide. Kylo had a nosy neighbor. She would notice his difference. Hell, she may have even seen you, caught a glimpse of you through the car window.

How could you trust these two when trusting strangers, trusting that strangers would never touch you and rip away your innocence, had proven false? That trust had been destroyed. That trust was something the past you knew about.

The present you, the one who had now killed on two occasions, placed the black mug onto the counter top.

“I’m hungry.” You weren’t. You were trying to fill the void, occupy the minutes with an action so that you no longer had to think of repercussions of the deed. Drown out the knowledge that you missed the high from the adrenaline, from the kill. Bury, deeply, the mounting desperation to flee. These two men could be cut from your web. They now helped keep it together. You had to somehow trust that they would not tear it all apart. You knew what existed on your portions of the web. What baggage you brought, what threads to stray from and protect. Their threads, the things that connected them to whatever mysteries that comprised their lives, were ominous shadows. “Chips? Ice cream?” Something. Anything.

Kill or be killed.

Consume or be consumed.

Matt was opening the freezer. When you turned around, you began to study him in the hopes that you could quickly learn his secrets. You had to, in order to survive.


End file.
